Rain in the Desert
by Kyrianne
Summary: RED VS BLUE: It was summer in Blood Gulch, about 30 minutes till midnight, and a very heavy rain was currently pouring down from the heavens... Slight Grif/Simmons
1. Part 1

**Title: **Rain in the Desert, Part I

**Author:** Kyrianne

**Fandom: **Red vs Blue

**Prompt:** 30. Under the Rain

**Pairing: **None really, but Grif/Simmons if you want it to be

**Rating: **T for the language our RVB boys are so fond of using~

**Word Count:** 2608

**Summary:** It was summer in Blood Gulch, about 30 minutes till midnight, and a very heavy rain was currently pouring down from the heavens...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own RVB, any of the characters, or even the actual game of Halo, or an Xbox. DON'T SUE ME, BRO!

**A/N: **This idea came to me randomly in yearbook class the other day, when I was supposed to be writing my story copy. Strange the sort of places inspiration hits, huh? Anyway, the first line just hit me, and I carried it around with me and mulled it over for about 3 days before I finally sat down and started writing. I'm really proud of how this turned out, and I hope you all enjoy~!

(This is going to be in 3 parts, all using different themes from the 100 Themes challenge I found somewhere on FFnet)

----

It was summer in Blood Gulch, about 30 minutes till midnight, and a very heavy rain was currently pouring down from the heavens and drenching the dry, baked granite of the canyon. The ground drank in the water greedily, and still it drenched, a cacaphony of icy water hitting the ground and making the sort of white noise that the armies at either base had all but forgotten. Most of them sat inside the protection of concrete walls, hearing only the faintly dimmed sounds of nature outside, but there was one -- the only sign of life in the whole gulch -- standing on top of a rock just outside Red Base, face tilted to let the rain stream unforgiving down his cheeks and arms outstretched as if to soak in as much of the miracle as he could before it turned back into the wisps of a dream. His armor lay in a heap behind him where he had thrown it earlier, when the deluge had just started painting specs of dark over everything. His thin cotton boxers and white ribbed undershirt were already soaked completely through, but he didn't seem to notice or care about the goosebumps that paraded down his arms and legs or the way he had started to shiver and chatter his teeth at the cold. He just continued to stand there, eyes screwed tightly shut and a grin that could only be described as completely and utterly insane pulling his mouth into a flashing white line bridging between tanned cheeks.

If you didn't know better, you might think he would stay there forever, that nothing could ever make him leave this spot and the caress of Nature against his skin, and you'd have been right -- nothing could have ever moved him from that spot... nothing but a certain private clad in maroon armor, who had decided to brave the storm in order to pull the crazy, good-for-nothing soldier back inside where he belonged (Sarge's Orders).

Simmons peered through the sheets of rain, clawing an impatient hand at the fog that threatened his vision as it clouded over his visor. Everything was cast over with grey; he had forgotten how melancholy a storm could make everything seem, almost like it came straight from an old silent film. How long had it been since he'd last been on Earth, had last been used to diverse weather and rain and snow and sleet? Ten years? Twenty? He couldn't remember. Did it really matter?

Fighting down the wash of homesickness that clawed at his chest, Simmons padded forward warily, keeping an eye out for anything that might decide to jump out at him. He forced a laugh to calm himself; who was he kidding? Nothing would be crazy enough to stay out here in this weather. Well, with the exception of one extremely retarded orange soldier, who he promised himself he would beat the shit out of once he actually found the guy.

...He _really_ didn't like this weather.

_Sleet wipers shoop shoop something jumping on the road a deer Quick, hit the breaks! squeal slide the road is gone tumbling rolling down a hill trees dizzy blood blood where is it coming from the ground is ending falling falling falling--_

He shuddered and forced the memory from his mind, thinking instead of the nasty things he would inflict on his comrade. _Sarge would be so proud._

The edge of the base loomed as he ran out of concrete. A shock of fear once again claimed him, and he stayed well away from the edge (_Slipping falling dying_). He scanned the surroundings for any sign of life or movement, careful to look for the vibrant orange sure to come with it.

At first, he didn't even notice the person on the rock, even as perpendicular and out of place as he was; there was no movement from the drenched private. But then from the corner of his eye Simmons caught a twitch, the shake of laughter in his shoulders, perhaps, and he snapped his attention toward that move, to those rocks, and a yell of surprise and alarm (_So unsafe no traction he could slip crack open his head blood brains freeze die)_ ripped unbidden from his lips.

"Grif! What the fuck are you doing!?"

A few beats of silence, then, "Leave me alone, Simmons!" Only the slightest tilt of the head, cocky and self-assured and thatsonofabitchisgoingtofuckingdie.

Still refusing to get any nearer to the edge, Simmons yelled back, "You fucking IDIOT! You're going to DIE out here!"

"Like you care if I die."

No response.

"Simmons?"

Still none.

"You don't actually care if I die, do you?"

More silence. Grif craned his neck around to see Simmons standing on the top of the base, gripping the side of one of the wall-barriors with both hands like his life depended on it. He wasn't moving.

A few funny faces and insults later, and still nothing. "Simmons? You okay, man?"

The maroon soldier started, clutching the wall even tighter if that were possible. "You're going to DIE, Grif!" he repeated thickly, his voice straining over the lump of fear in his throat.

_Screaming screaming screaming is that me the blood is everywhere crunch impact orange and yellow leaves glass is everywhere silence no one hears me scream pain pain pain blurring PAIN darkness nothing._

Grif slid off the rock with a practiced leap, trotting over to his armor. He reached down to yank it on, then decided against it and threw it back into the mud, padding barefoot around the base to the ramp, cold mud squelching between his toes. He stopped and savored the feeling for a moment, heaving a nostalgic sigh before picking up his pace.

_Raining raining churning ocean running barefoot squelching mud damp grass singing dancing laughing raining dancing Listen, Kaikaina, the sky is singing too._

Water rolled down the ramp past his feet as he climbed upward, washing the last traces of dirt and grime from him. The drenched concrete sapped what little warmth he had through the bottoms of his feet, and by the time he had reached the top of the base he was clutching himself and shivering fiercely.

"C-come on, S-S-Simmons," he chattered, reaching out a hand to grab at the maroon soldier. It met the smooth armor of a back plate and bounced off harmlessly. Grif shuddered deeply, teeth clacking together violently, and tried again. This time he managed to find hold on the edge of the plate, and he yanked on it weakly. "S-S-Simmooooons... I'm c-c-cooooold..."

"Grif," Simmons snapped hoarsely, not turning to look at him or even letting go of the wall he still clung to. "You... are...." He shuddered himself. "You... you're..."

"Yeah, y-yeah, I'm h-here," Grif replied, annoyed, and tugged insistantly on the other man once again. "I r-really am going to d-die if we don't get b-back ins-s-s-ide." He paused, coughing uncontrollably. Simmons stiffened in surprise, and once Grif had regained his breath he used this as an opening to loop his arms around the other's waist and half drag and pry him from the wall.

Simmons let go without a fight, surprise at how determined Grif was being overshadowing his mindnumbing panic. The usually-orange spartan drug him halfway to the hole leading into the second floor before he regained his senses.

"Let go of me," he muttered, squirming a little in the slightly smaller man's uncomfortable grip. Grif let go of him gratefully, not even caring that he had just dumped Simmons onto the ground. The Hawaiian immediately clasped his hands around himself and hopped up and down, hoping the movement would help warm him up. Needless to say, it wasn't working.

As Simmons was getting to his feet, Grif started to whine with dismay, "Simmons... I c-can't feel my f-f-f-eeeeeeeeeeeet! My t-toes are going to br-break off-ffff!" His teeth resumed chattering, and Simmons groaned.

"You're an idiot," he murmured softly before switching their previous positions and scooping Grif up into his arms. _Damn, if he isn't heavy! And while I'm wearing this armor! What the fuck!?_

Grif screwed his eyes shut and moaned, curling into the chest provided to him. His shivering was making it hard for Simmons to hold onto him.

Simmons made his way cautiously to the hole, peering down before deciding where to land. Inside, Sarge had set up about 20 large buckets, all being gradually filled with the collected rainwater. Obviously there was no way they would let such an opportunity go to waste, not while they'd been living the past 8 months without any liquid at ALL besides the mayonnaise they got from Blue Base. After analysing the safest place to land, Simmons sucked in a breath, tightened his grip on Grif, and leapt into the opening.

_Oh god I'm falling it's happening all over again rain no ground I'm going to--_

He landed solidly just a few inches from where he had planned, the heavy traction on his armor's boots providing a completely skid-free landing. Simmons blinked a few times, surprised at how easy that was, and proceeded toward 'the Hole,' as Grif fondly called it. He manuvered Grif down first, then jumped after him, landing with an echoing thud in the room below.

The doors that were normally open to the elements were completely sealed shut, only the barest amount of water managing to trickle in under the steel doors. The warthog sat in the center of the room, having been moved there by none other than Simmons himself right before the storm had started. For almost a solid minute, the only noise was the soft dripping of the rain above them and the pattering of it outside, but then a pained groan rose from Grif, who had been completely motionless only a moment before.

"S-S-Si-Si-muh-muh-muh--" A hacking cough interrupted him, and he took a minute before it subsided. "C-c-cooooooold!"

"I know..." Simmons murmured, leaning over to grasp the other soldier again. "I'll get you inside as soon as I can." He trotted over to the ladder the led underground and to the barracks, taking the rungs slowly to assure he wouldn't slip and fall. He needn't have worried, though, as he was soon at the bottom and greeted with a locked door.

"Password!" a deep, commandingly southern voice crackled from a speaker positioned above the doorframe.

"It's Simmons, sir," Simmons replied, assuming his role of kiss-ass with very little difficulty. "I have Grif, and he's practically unconscious." Grif moaned for affect.

"Hurry up and come in, I can't stand bein' alone with Princess Pinky here anymore!" A slightly feminine giggle floated over the gruff voice of their C.O.

"Come on, Sarge, it's fun! I'll even show you how to switch to another color, see?" The speakers crackled off, leaving Simmons to wonder what the pink private had even been talking about. He didn't have to ponder it long, though, because the door suddenly slid open and he stepped inside, dumping Grif unceremoniously on the floor so he could take off his armor.

"H-hey!" Grif coughed, sitting up. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms a few times, bending and unbending his fingers and toes to make sure they were still all intact. Simmons noticed and heaved an irritated sigh.

"What the fuck were you even doing out there, anyway?" he demanded, squatting down next to the other private in order to hear his answer more clearly.

"It reminds me of Hawaii," Grif answered simply, rolling away from Simmons and standing up shakily. "I need a blanket. And some hot chocolate. And a cigarette. Actually, make that five."

"Well, _you_ sure recovered quickly," Simmons muttered, then added, "How the hell does that... that... _thing _out there remind you of Hawaii?!"

Grif shrugged, then rubbed his hands together and blew on them. "Well, it rained a lot in Hawaii around summer time. It wasn't ever so damn cold, though." His head snapped up, eyes glinting as something dawned on him. "Why were you about to shit your pants?"

"What!?" Simmons yelped, feeling a light blush rising to his cheeks. He was almost out of his armor, so he turned his face to concentrate on that instead.

"You know... You were freaking out. A lot."

"No I wasn't." The denial came out before Simmons really had time to think about it.

Grif smirked. "I had to pry you off the wall, Simmons," he retorted amusedly, then turned serious again. "I had no idea you were so afraid of storms, too."

"I'm not afraid of them," Simmons snapped. "I'm afraid of--" He cut himself off, throwing down the last piece of his armor, the black body suit, with a decisively angry gesture. "I'm not going to tell you that."

Grif just shrugged. "Okay, but that just means that I'll assume you're afraid of water, or something."

"Shut up, Grif! You're the one who stands on rocks in the middle of rainstorms when you could fall off and break open your head and break your back and bleed and bleed and bleed--"

"Woah, woah! Calm down, Simmons!" Grif raised a hand to shake the shoulder of the hyperventalating man in front of him. "Nothing happened to me, look! I'm perfectly fine!"

Simmons shook his head. "No, Grif! You almost died, and even if you didn't bleed to death you're still going to get a fucking fever!"

Grif grabbed his other shoulder and shook him forcefully. "What the fuck _happened _to you!?" he demanded.

Simmons fell silent. "I..." He paused, turning a pleading face toward the other man. _Please, don't make me tell you. Please._

"Go on," Grif urged, tone turning softer. "I won't make fun of you or anything, I promise."

"I...I've never told anyone this before. _Anyone_, not even my own family..." Simmons started. He took a deep breath and smoothed a hand down his face. "Where do I even start?" He cleared his throat.

"The night before I was supposed to leave for the army," Simmons whispered, "I got into a really bad car accident. It was raining," his voice started to choke, "and a deer jumped out in front of my car. I slammed on the breaks and went into the ditch, only it wasn't a ditch, it was a hill that lead to a small cliff." He shuddered. "My... my car slid all the way down to the edge of the cliff and rolled off. It was completely totaled and I was knocked unconscious. Somehow I got away with only a broken arm and some random cuts, nothing too serious." He took in a few more deep breaths and then finished, "That was the last time I've seen rain at all, before now."

Grif blinked, unsure how to respond. "Wow," he finally decided, tightening his grip on Simmons' shoulders slightly. "That sounds horrible."

"It was," Simmons muttered. "It really, really was." His heart ached from having to recall the incident yet again, but he felt strangely lifted in a way; he didn't have to carry the burden of that memory alone anymore. "Thanks, Grif," he choked out.

"No problem," Grif murmured, still looking a little unsure of how to act after such a serious discussion. But, being Grif, he soon forgot his awkwardness and suggested, "Wanna play a game or something? Looks like we're going to be stuck in here for a while."

Simmons smiled wanly, glad for any distraction.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Grif smirked. "And go get me about five blankets and a pack of cigarettes. I'm still cold, you know." He coughed a few times to further his point.

"Oh, fuck you."

---

A/N: This went in a completely different direction than what I had originally planned. I was going to concentrate on Grif and his memories of the rainy season in Hawaii, but somehow Simmons butted in with the accident and I couldn't really say no. Sorry if it made him sound too out of character. D: Also, for those of you confused about "Kaikaina": that's Sister's real name. Honest. And sorry if I got the climate of Hawaii way wrong in the brief description of it by Grif. XD; I was too lazy to go back and research it. D:


	2. Part 2

**Title: **Rain in the Desert, Part II

**Author:** Kyrianne

**Fandom: **Red vs Blue

**Prompt:** 50. Breaking the Rules

**Pairing: **A wished Grif/Simmons on Donut's part. XD;

**Rating: **T for all those fucks and shits and fucks that I fuckin' squeezed in wherever the fuck I could fuckin' squeeze those shits and fucks and shits and fucks.

**Word Count:** 2589

**Summary:** "Wow! I didn't know we had so many board games!" Donut exclaimed, eyes widening with excitement.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Halo, RVB, or any characters. Mmmyep.

**A/N: **This one's way more silly compared to the last. XD; So... if I depressed you or something, get ready for teh lulz.

---

Simmons abandoned his armor when he had thrown it in the corner and walked further into the base, Grif trailing lazily behind. Turning the corner into the rec room, he froze as he saw his C.O. and the pink rookie sitting on the floor, surrounded by something... pink. And fuzzy.

Hearing their footsteps (and lack thereof), Donut glanced up to see the two missing soldiers. "_There_ you are!" he burst out, sounding a little like a scolding mother. "What took you so long, Simmons? And look, Grif is soaked to the bone!" He suddenly burst into a radiant grin. "Want me to warm you up? I've been practicing this _great _new massage technique--"

"Dear GOD, no," Grif cut in, shuddering. "I don't want to hear any more of that sentence."

Donut pouted. "But it--"

"No."

"Will you at least let me--"

"I said no, Donut. That means shut up!"

"Fine," the pink soldier huffed, turning back to Sarge. The red-clad man looked a little glassy-eyed, like he'd sacrificed his last shred of sanity while keeping Donut company. "Hey Sarge, you ready to learn how to double perl?!" He turned to Grif and Simmons. "You guys can learn, too!"

"What the fuck is a double pearl?" Grif exclaimed, looking to Simmons for an answer.

Simmons shrugged. "I think it's a knitting term," he pondered, adding, "Or maybe that was crocheting?"

Grif smirked. "Psh, you would know."

"What is THAT supposed to mean?!"

"Come on, guys, leave the lovers' spat at the door. We need to really CONCENTRATE on this shit, man!" He waved his knitting needles dramatically in the air before slamming them back together and clicking out a whole new row with a furious pace.

"What?!" Simmons burst out. "We're not-- What are you-- I don't--" he sputtered, unable to construct a sentence as his face turned bright red.

"Nice," Grif jeered. "Reeeeeal smooth, Simmons." He crossed his arms. "And for the record, I'm not gay." He paused, "Unless you count that one time at band camp, but I was drunk, so--"

"_Band_ camp? You don't even play an instrument!"

"Yes I do. I play the ukulele."

"THAT'S NOT A BAND INSTRUMENT!"

"It is in Hawaii."

"Stop making shit up!"

"I'm not! It's true, I played the electric ukulele in marching band!"

"Now you're REALLY making shit up!"

"GUYS, STOP IT!" Donut yelled. The two turned to stare at him with surprise. "Um... Watching you guys argue is cute and all, but I kind of need to finish this before Christmas." He gestered vaguely at the mass of pink yarn surrounding him on the floor.

"What _is _that, anyway?" Grif wondered, reaching down to pick it up.

"Hey!" Donut admonished, smacking Grif's hand lightly away. "It's a secret! You guys can't know yet!"

"You're giving us something _pink_ for Christmas? I'm scared already," Simmons interjected.

"For the last time, it's LIGHTISH RED!" Donut huffed. "You know what, you guys? If you don't want to learn, I'll just put this away and we can do something else that you _won't_ make fun of."

"Dibs on picking the game," Grif blurted.

"Dibs-- Aw, crap," Simmons said simultaneously.

Donut grinned slyly. "You know, if you guys could just get over your issues with compromise, you'd be the perfect couple! It's almost like you're MADE for each other!"

"Shut up and put your yarn away, Donut," Grif retorted, sounding more bored than anything else. "Now..." he continued, gaining an almost devilish look. "Which game should we play...?"

Grif staggered back into the rec room a few minutes later, arms towering with game boxes. He dropped them onto the table with a slight yelp as the stacks toppled over.

"Wow! I didn't know we had so many board games!" Donut exclaimed, eyes widening with excitement.

"Yeah," Grif huffed, leaning to place his hands on his knees for a moment and catch his breath. "We got bored and had them shipped from Earth. That was a long time before you came."

"I forgot we even _had _these!" Simmons murmured almost in awe as he began straightening the boxes. He listed the names as he stacked them neatly again. "Battleships... Rummicube... Monopoly... Clue... Parcheesi... Risk... Scattergories... Pictionary... The Home Improvement Game -- What the fuck is _that_ even about? Candyland... Life... Phase 10... Uno... Cribbage... Backgammon... Mousetrap... Wow, we have like every one ever made."

"I doubt _that_," Grif interrupted, but still looked pleased. "So..." he surveyed the games, frowning slightly as he tried to make a decision. After a long while he announced simply, "Monopoly."

"_Monopoly?!" _Simmons snorted. "That's the most cliche board game in the whole world."

"For a reason! It's like, the best game ever fucking _made_," Grif answered arrogantly, placing his hand on his hip as if to dare Simmons to argue.

Simmons took the bait. "No, it's not! Monopoly is boring! We should play..." he glanced down at the table, picking up the first game he saw. "Candyland!"

Grif smirked. "A little kid game? Please." He shook his head, smiling condescendingly at the blushing man before him. "Plus, I called dibs. So, we're playing Monopoly."

Simmons dropped Candyland back on the table with a thump, muttering, "Asshole."

"Fucktard."

"Cockbite."

"Shithead."

Donut swooped in, snatching the Monopoly box from Grif's hand. He sprinted towards the door with it held high above his head, yelling, "I CALL THE PUPPY DOG!"

Grif and Simmons looked at each other and sighed, following Donut to retrieve the game.

"'Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go, do not collect 200 dollars.' Fuck!" Simmons slammed a hand down on the table, upsetting the brightly colored paper money arranged on it.

"Haha, loser. What did you get busted for this time?" Grif teased, plucking Simmons' piece, the shoe, off of the track when the defeated man refused to. He slid it into Jail, waving it back and forth as if it were talking. "I'm such a retard, I tried stealing a totaled car from a junk yard!'" he said in a slightly lowered voice that was supposed to be a Simmons impression.

"Shut up, Grif. If we're deciding what I'm doing time for, then _I_ get to pick," Simmons mutteredly darkly, waving Grif's hand off of his piece. He poked his finger into the shoe where it stood in jail, frowning.

"Fine, Mr. Bossy. What are you in for, then?"

"Ooh! Ooh! I know!" Donut interjected, raising a hand as if he wished to be called on.

"What?" Grif prompted boredly.

"He tried to steal Grif's heart~!"

"Yeah, shut up," Simmons cut in, adding, "I'm in because I hacked into the President's computer and replaced all his important government documents with porn."

"Dude," Grif chuckled, "I was getting ready to make fun of whatever you came up with, but man, that's a good one."

"Thanks. And also, you're a douchebag."

"That was kinda of harsh, Simmons. It _was_ a compliment."

"My turn!" Donut declared with glee, reaching for the dice. He threw them and moved the pewter dog forward 5 spaces. "Community Chest..." he proclaimed, snatching one of the yellow cards up eagerly. He read it aloud. "'You have won second place in a beauty contest! Collect 10 dollars.' Only second place? Come on, I would have TOTALLY won! And ten dollars? They're cheap!" He held his hand out to Simmons. "Gimme a ten, banker!"

"Yeah yeah, I know," Simmons grumbled, pulling a 10 from the game box and crushing it into the younger man's hand. "Take it and leave." He turned to Grif and opened his mouth to tell him to take his turn.

"Your turn, Simmons," Grif responded, smirking as Simmons closed his mouth and then opened it again, an action reminiscent of a fish.

"What?! Your turn comes after Donut, not mine!"

"I know. I already took it while you were giving Donut his prize money."

"You can't do that!"

"Yeah I can. I just did."

"Well what did you even land on!?" Simmons turned his gaze to the board. The racecar (Grif's piece) was sitting on Virginia Avenue, the only of Simmons' properties with a hotel. "That's the Simmons Hotel, jackass! You have to pay me rent!"

"You _named _your hotel? Nerd. Plus, you're in jail, so I don't have to pay you anything."

"You do too have to pay me! Business transactions still happen if you're in jail!"

"I don't know what jails _you've _been to, but that is totally bogus."

"_You're _totally bogus! It's in the rules! Section 12, rule number 5! Under the title 'Jail'!"

"You memorized the rules for this game too? Figures." He smirked, adding another, "Nerd."

"Yeah, whatever. You still owe me 900 bucks."

"What?! No way am I paying that! I didn't even go into your smelly hotel, I just slept in my car _outside _it! See?" He pointed to his playing piece. "I have a car, I can do that."

"It's not smelly, it's a five star hotel! And you can't just park outside, it's got valet parking and a private parking garage."

"There's such a thing as parking on the dirt, you know," Grif countered smugly. "I don't owe you a dime."

"Just give him his money, Grif!" Donut scolded, reaching over to pluck up the amount from the stubborn man's stash himself.

"Stop that! Get your grimy paws off my money!" Grif bawled with surprise, trying to shove the pink private away. Donut ignored him and grabbed a handful of 500 dollar bills, handing two of them to Simmons.

"Now give him $100 back and take your turn! I wanna finish this so we can play Life!"

Simmons dumbly handed Grif a hundred dollar bill, a little surprised at how take-charge Donut had been acting that day. He plucked the dice and rolled them, hoping for doubles. They landed on a 6 and a 5.

"Fuck!" Simmons exclaimed, slamming a hand down on the table again. Grif leaned over and moved the other's piece one step further out of jail.

"Hang in there, buddy, you'll make it out soon," Grif purred in a patronizing voice. "Just try not to drop the soap."

"Shut up," Simmons muttered, frowning as Grif rolled the dice for his turn.

The orange private started moving his piece forward, then realized where he was going to land and started moving it off the track and into the center.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Simmons demanded.

"Detour," Grif replied simply, continuing to move his car further toward the image of Mr. Monopoly.

Simmons punched a finger down on the space Grif should have landed on. "Go here, dipshit! And stop breaking rules!"

"Fine..." Grif sighed dramatically, moving his piece where it was supposed to go. "Nerd." He looked down at the blue-clad policeman with the whistle, finger pointing toward the jail still occupied by Simmons. "Figures that the cops would have to be blue," he grumbled before moving his piece into the tiny orange jail next to Simmons'. He paused, then, as a second thought, reached into the game box and snatched up a wad of 500 dollar bills.

"What the _fuck?!?_" Simmons demanded, grabbing Grif's wrist to prevent him from putting the stolen money into his pile. Grif twisted away and replied, "I went to jail for robbing a bank."

"If they proved you guilty, didn't they get the money back?" Donut chimed in.

"Nope," Grif retorted. "I hid it in my secret hiding place. No one ever found it."

"You can't do that!" Simmons whined, trying to steal back the money. He was blocked by Grif, but kept trying anyway.

"Is there a rule against it?" Grif interrogated, raising an eyebrow.

Simmons paused, thinking. "Well, no, but that's common sense--"

"Well if there's not a rule about it, then I can do it," Grif reasoned, sticking out his tongue. "Your turn, Simmons."

"Goddammit!" he exclaimed, but rolled the dice for his turn anyway. Once again he was unlucky and without doubles. "GODDAMMIT!" he yelled again.

"Nobooooody knooooows the trou-bles I've seeeeeeen~ Noboooooody knoooooows but Jeeeesuuuuuuss..." Grif sang. "Come on Simmons, sing it with me!"

"You are a fucking idiot, Grif."

"What? What if i don't _want _to get married?" Grif huffed as he was stopped for marriage. They had finished Monopoly about 15 minutes before, and had been playing the game of Life ever since (on Donut's suggestion).

Grif flicked over the tiny chapel in his frustration.

"You have to!" Donut exclaimed, righting the plastic building. "That's how the game works!" Grif crossed his arms impatiently as Donut fished around in the game box for his spouse. After a moment he was proudly holding up the tiny plastic piece and handing it to Grif with a grin. "Here you go!"

"What!?" Grif exclaimed, staring down at the little person. "You gave me another man!"

"I know," Donut clarified innocently.

"What the fuck?!"

"It's Simmons, of course!"

"What!??" Grif pointed dramatically to the plastic person already sitting in Simmons' little red car. "That is Simmons!" He violently threw the person Donut had given him down on the table. "THERE CAN'T BE TWO SIMMONS!"

Donut sighed. "Fine... Gimme it back then."

Grif dropped the person into Donut's outstretched hand gladly. "Don't even give me another person. I'm _not _getting married."

"Aww," Donut pouted, but backed down. "Okay. But don't be sad when you can't have a baby later in life!"

"What?!" Simmons interrupted. "Men can't make babies together!"

"Yes they can!" Donut argued.

"No, they can't!" Grif and Simmons yelled back in unison.

Donut smiled. "Yes, they can. That blue guy was pregnant once, remember? Tucker?"

"That's because he was raped by an alien," Grif countered, crossing his arms again. "Regular guys can't have kids. That'd be fucked up."

Donut giggled. "Well, _one _of them would have to be."

"You're sick, Donut," Simmons groaned.

"What did Donut do this time?" came a voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Sarge, standing at attention and looking much better than he had before (Simmons had dragged his C.O. back to his room before they had started playing, since the man hadn't responded to anyone and had just continued sitting cross-style on the floor). "Don't let him talk to you, Simmons!" His voice got strangely dramatic (and louder) as he continued. "He'll slowly start to bombard your head with horrible images, and then he'll teach you how to do girly things and force you into submission! AND HE'LL KEEP TELLING YOU THINGS ABOUT HIS LAST BOYFRIEND UNTIL YOU WANT TO SHRIVEL UP AND DIE RIGHT THERE!"

"Did... did he actually do all those things to you, Sir?" Simmons inquired shakily.

"Fer God's socks, no! But I just knew he was plannin' on it..." The red sergeant turned as if he were going to leave, muttering about Donut under his breath, but then he suddenly turned around again. "Oh! All three of you, upstairs pronto! It's stopped raining, and I need you to bring the buckets down here!"

"Yes, Sir!" Simmons called, leaping to attention with a salute. He sped after Sarge like an eager puppy, turning only to send Grif and Donut a scolding look before trotting out of sight.

"...Fucking kiss-ass," Grif muttered, pushing himself from the table and trailing slowly behind Donut, who had jumped up almost immediately after Simmons had glared at him.

Donut turned at Grif's comment, pausing in the hallway to look back at the orange soldier.

"What?" Grif demanded as Donut stared at him. "It's true. He's a goddamn kiss-ass and I hate it."

Donut's only response was a slow and knowing smile.

---

A/N: I know nothing about knitting. XD; Sorry. If there's no such thing as double perling, then Donut made it up. :D

Also, all those games Simmons was listing? I actually own them all. XD; And yes, that Monopoly rule is true, along with all the other technical things about the game. I'm the type of nerd who would look it up to make sure I got it right ;


	3. Part 3 and Epilogue

**Title: **Rain in the Desert, Part III (And Epilogue)

**Author:** Kyrianne

**Fandom: **Red vs Blue

**Prompt:** 18. Rainbow

**Pairing: **Slightly Grif/Simmons

**Rating: **T for only teensy bit of dirty language

**Word Count:** 1302

**Summary:** Soon he found himself on the top of the base, staring up into the bright blue, almost cloudless sky for any evidence that there had even been a rainstorm.

**Disclaimer:** Red vs Blue characters belong to Rooster Teeth. I'm only borrowing them for the moment. :3

**A/N: **This one is definitely the shortest, but I think it wraps up the story nicely. Other than that, I don't have very much to say (gasp!).

---

Grif was the last to emerge from their underground baracks, having taken his sweet time to make his way down the hallway and up the ladder that lead above ground. The "garage" floor of the base was empty, save for a few errant puddles and the echo of voices from the floor above him. The steel doors had been opened, letting the scorching light of the sun back in. Grif sighed, wishing the storm would have lasted longer. Now there weren't any good excuses as to why he shouldn't work.

"Where's Grif?" he could hear Sarge complaining. "That dirtbag needs to carry these buckets!"

"You want me to go beat him for you, Sir?" Grif grimaced at the sickly sweet intonation in Simmons' voice.

"Thank you, Simmons, but that won't be necessary."

Grif sighed; he might as well get this over with, and then maybe Sarge would let him sleep the rest of the day. Not that they had anything else to do, anyway.

Trudging reluctantly toward the grav-lift, he stepped into the pulsing light blue field and let it raise him gently to the next floor. "I'm here, I'm here," he grumbled when everyone turned to look at him.

"About time, numbnuts! You almost forced me to start plannin' on infiltrating the Blues' base for backup."

"What?! There _is _no backup at Blue base!" Grif exclaimed incredulously.

"That's what you think! But little do you know, they've got a secret robot army forming in their underground baracks, just _waiting _for the command to come attack us while we sleep! By the green of my right hand, I'm going to go and turn them against their owners someday! I just need to wait until the right opportunity arises..." Sarge trailed off, muttering passionately about the Blues and their secret plans.

"Well _that _made a lot of sense," the orange private stated, rolling his eyes. He drew his eyes over the spectacle of buckets in front of him, frowning in concentration. After a moment of thinking, he pondered, "How are you going to move those? And where the hell are you going to even _store _all that water?"

"While you nancies were wasting time playing around at your confangled games, I was using my superior intellect to construct a reservoir in the wall of the kitchen and a series of tubes that led to it from above ground!"

"You're a genius, Sir!" Simmons burst, turning to give a look of fabricated awe to his commanding officer. Grif pretended to retch, eliciting a scolding glare and shake of the index finger from Donut.

"Hehe, thank you Simmons. Now all I want you ninnies to do is get these buckets safely to ground level and Simmons here will do the rest."

"I will, Sir?" He didn't sound too happy this time, Grif noted with some spiteful satisfaction.

"You're the only one I can trust with a job this important," Sarge explained, thumping his second-in-command once on the back in a remotely fatherly gesture. Simmons gasped a little, waiting to rub at the sore spot Sarge had created until he thought no one was looking. Grif smirked, but decided not to make a comment.

It hadn't taken that much time to move the buckets, but it had taken a lot of patience. The quickest way to the first floor was down the grav-lift system, but there was no way to jump down the hole with a bucket and not lose half the water inside it. That forced them to walk down the ramp and around the base through one of the doors, which was easier said than done; every time they reached an incline, particularly the ramps, they had to hold the buckets firmly level to the ground and walk slowly to avoid spills. Despite these obstacles they had somehow managed to transport almost all of the water to the basement, losing only two buckets on the way -- Grif swore it was Donut's fault that he had tripped on the way down the ramp and crashed into Simmons, drenching them with the water in both of their buckets.

Now that they were done moving the buckets, Grif was free to do what he chose (at least for the time being). He gloated a little about this to Simmons, who had to pour each bucket into the tubes to the reservoir, but it hadn't lasted long and soon he found himself on the top of the base, staring up into the bright blue, almost cloudless sky for any evidence that there had even been a rainstorm. The smooth expanse of cerulean betrayed nothing but the few wisps of light gray clouds close to disappearing behind the canyon wall. Grif sighed, trying to ignore the lump of homesickness growing in his stomach.

"Looking for more rain?" came a voice behind him. Grif turned to see Simmons stepping carefully toward him, mindful of the puddles still stubbornly sticking around. Grif didn't reply as the maroon soldier came nearer, stopping beside him and peering into the sky himself.

After a moment of silence, Simmons murmured, "Donut is making pancakes, if you want any."

"Mm," Grif grunted in response.

They stood staring at the sky for a few minutes more, neither saying a word as their eyes scanned the heavens. A low sound of content slid from Simmons throat and he smiled softly, making Grif's head snap to finally look at the soldier, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Simmons smile widened as he pointed toward the far end of the canyon. "Look," he hummed. "A rainbow."

Grif turned his gaze to where Simmons was pointing, and sure enough, there it was -- a perfect curve of spectrum, faint and faded just above the rock wall. A small smile pulled at his lips and he stood transfixed by the colors for a moment before turning to Simmons and grinned, "You said there were pancakes?"

Simmons laughed, nodding. "I was wondering when you would ask about them. Come on, they're probably done by now."

He turned and led the way back down into the base.

**+Epilogue+**

"More syrup?" Donut invited, holding the jar of reconstituted maple syrup over Grif's already drenched plate.

"Oh yeah," Grif responded contentedly, folding yet another pancake so it could fit into his mouth. "Keep 'em coming!"

"You've already eaten like 10!" Simmons complained, gesturing to Donut to put another pancake on his plate.

"Well you've eaten 8," Grif retorted, shoving another pancake into his mouth and chewing on it enthusiastically, lips smacking.

"Uh, guys?" Donut squeaked. "I'm out of pancakes."

Grif sighed. "Man, and I was just getting started, too." He patted his stomach and turned to Simmons, smirking. "Looks like I got the good end of the deal, huh?" He lifted his plate and started licking the excess syrup off of it.

"That's disgusting, Grif!" Simmons barked, watching Grif as if he were transfixed. Grif looked up briefly, shrugged, and continued slurping up the liquid until the brown speckled dish was spotless. He glanced over at Simmons' own plate and asked bluntly, "You done with your plate?"

Simmons nodded dumbly, not stopping Grif as he swiped the plate away and began sucking on it in turn. It didn't take him long to remove all the sticky maple syrup, and he plunked the plate back down on the table to punctuate his finish.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Simmons asked after a pause, trying to ignore the sticky residue clinging to the man's lips.

"Poker?" Grif suggested, shrugging.

"Strip poker!" Donut cut in, bursting with excitement.

"Sure, why not?"

"Grif, don't encourage him!"

Donut beamed. "Man, I can't _wait _to beat you guys! WOOHOO!" He tore off his frilly apron and dashed out of the room.

Simmons turned to Grif. "Well?"

Grif smirked. "After you."


End file.
